


If the Kilt Fits

by Mums_the_Word



Series: Did I Ever Tell You? [7]
Category: Outlander (TV), White Collar
Genre: Gen, Scottish Laird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 13:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8103988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/pseuds/Mums_the_Word
Summary: Although this fiction is set in the present, Neal explains his brief sojourn into Scottish history to an incredulous Peter. In the end, the FBI agent tries for tauntingly glib, but, of course, Neal has to pull Peter’s strings yet again.You really don’t have to be an “Outlander” fan to enjoy this little fiction. Actually, it doesn’t matter if you haven’t even seen one episode because Neal will clue you in.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve played fast and loose with the time line in this story. In the White Collar series, Neal was probably already on the anklet long before “Outlander” was ever being considered as a television show. But, I really love that Scottish drama, and I just had to make Neal a part of it.

 

     On a slightly overcast September morning, Peter and Neal were seated, side-by-side, on an Amtrak Acela train bound for Washington, DC. Once they had reached the nation’s capital, they planned to take a cab to the United Kingdom’s Embassy on Massachusetts Avenue. Apparently, Great Britain’s ambassador to the United States was visiting the President to discuss recent events regarding Britain’s withdrawal from the Common Market. While in America, Her Majesty’s emissary also wanted to meet with a member of the FBI’s New York White Collar Division about another matter that was tied to a past Federal operation.

     Several months ago, the investigation of a very talented passport forger named Jason Lang had placed Peter in a precariously dangerous situation. The maliciously clever and devious Matthew Keller had manipulated Peter’s kidnapping in order to procure something worth enough to pay off a 2.5 million dollar debt to the Russians. That item happened to be the McNally solitaire, a Scottish antiquity in Neal’s possession. Well, it wasn’t _exactly_ in Neal’s possession. He had to chisel the very old and very valuable little trinket, once meant to be Kate’s engagement ring, out of a statue in a park before he could barter it for Peter’s freedom.

     Of course, Keller being Keller, was never a man of his word. As a result, Peter was forced to try to gain his own release. However, there were complications—like a locked cell—and the FBI agent’s safety was in grave jeopardy. Neal managed to save the day when he talked his partner through a jailbreak. When the two were again reunited in the basement of a clothing warehouse in the garment district on 8th Avenue, Neal refused to accept the return of the emerald and diamond ring. He suggested, instead, that it should be sent to the Scottish Royal Museum.

     In due time, Her Majesty, the Queen of England, had personally drafted a formal letter of gratitude to the FBI for the return of a part of the Commonwealth’s heritage, and that commendation was to be hand-delivered by the Ambassador. Reese Hughes insisted that Peter represent the White Collar Division and accept the honor. And, because Neal had garnered some of Hughes’ good will by saving Peter’s life, the crotchety old Department Head encouraged Peter to take Neal with him.

     “Make sure that you are on your best behavior, Caffrey!” Hughes admonished sternly. “Don’t make me regret putting you in a room full of diplomats. You’re a con man, so try to dredge up some degree of dignity in the upcoming situation.”

     Neal smiled that toothy grin of his as he answered, “I promise that I’ll be the epitome of decorum, Sir.”

     Hughes rolled his eyes and looked to Peter beseechingly. “Please keep your CI in check, Peter. We don’t need an international incident with one of our closest global allies.”

~~~~~~~~~~

     Eventually, the train pulled into Union Station in the District of Columbia. Both men, attired in conservative pinstriped suits, then presented themselves at the British Embassy where they were ushered into a reception area. A few minutes later, an attaché appeared, and, in an oh-so-very-cultured, patrician accent, introduced himself to the visiting Americans as Richard Findlay, aide to Sir Nigel Darroch, the Crown’s Ambassador.

      Looking down his aristocratic nose at Peter and Neal, the formal man began his clipped explanation.

     “Unfortunately, Sir Nigel is still engrossed in talks with your President about this beastly monetary business. However, he has given me precise instructions about your visit. Thus, I have been tasked with presenting Her Majesty’s missive to you after we first offer our hospitality of cocktails and lunch. If you will be so good as to accompany me, I believe that the table has already been readied just awaiting your arrival.”

     After that little speech, the officious man turned on his heel and began walking briskly away, no doubt assuming that Peter and Neal would follow. He led them into an anteroom where an intimate table was set with crisp white linen, delicate china, and sterling silver. Another man was already there—a tall, broad-shouldered, and substantial old gentleman in a tweed jacket. He had been in the midst of pouring himself a drink from a nearby display of cut-crystal decanters as they entered. When he turned to face the newcomers, his bushy eyebrows hiked to his receding hairline, and he looked stunned.

    In a deep, explosive voice that reverberated off the walls, he suddenly exclaimed in a thick Scottish burr, “Crivvens! If it tisn’t Lord Broch Tuarach, Laird of Lallybroch, that my eyes are beholding.”

     The large man then grabbed Neal is a bear hug, almost squeezing the breath from the slighter man as he pounded him on the back. When Neal could speak again, he said something unintelligible to Peter’s ear, and the two men suddenly were engaged in an animated discussion that Peter suspected might have been Gaelic.

     Poor prim and proper Richard Findlay seemed a bit flustered.

     “I was about to make the formal introductions, but, apparently, it is quite evident that you may already be acquainted with our other guest.”

     “Well, _I’m_ not acquainted,” Peter murmured, “so do carry on, Old Chap.”

     When Neal and his effusive, demonstrative friend had concluded their short conversation, and the attaché had everyone’s undivided attention, he looked first to the bulky man in the assembled entourage and began the recitation.

     “Sir, this is Special Agent Peter Burke of the FBI’s White Collar Division in New York City, and his professional associate, Neal Caffrey.”

     He then faced the American visitors. “Gentleman, may I present Gordon Rantoul, Director of the Scottish Royal Museum in Edinburgh.”

     Rantoul did not stand on ceremony. He looked at Neal with a wryly-cocked eyebrow and a look of consternation.

     “Caffrey, is it? That is not the name that you were going by awhile back. But _Irish,_ Laddie?—my Lord, do you have to be _Irish_?”

     “Now, Gordon,” Neal presented his most charming smile while responding with a lyrical Gaelic brogue, “we Irish have our good points. We do, indeed, make a fine whiskey—maybe not up to Macallan Scotch standards, but it’s commendable, nonetheless.”

     Rantoul was not about to admit anything of the sort. Instead, he furrowed his brow and looked at Neal keenly.

     “So, you work for the FBI? I ken that maybe you might have been undercover when you were in the Highlands, so you used a spy alias. Sorta like James Bond stuff, was it?”

    Peter had to struggle to keep a straight face when Neal answered, “Um—something like that, Gordon, and you may be closer to the truth than you might think.”

     “I get it, Laddie—clandestine spy stuff that must remain discrete. Now don’t fret yourself—mums the word on my end. But maybe now I understand why you didn’t stick around. You do know that you were a lock to play Jamie Fraser in the ‘Outlander’ series. Maybe in the future, a career in cinema may be something to consider down the road when you’ve had your fill of being in the government’s employ.”

~~~~~~~~~~

     The rest of the luncheon was a very staid affair, with no more talk of lords, lairds, or booze. Peter was certainly hoping for something more that might make Neal uncomfortable, but that didn’t happen. After dessert and a glass of port, the British attaché presented the crested letter from Queen Elizabeth with a flourish, and now the two partners were on their way home again.

     When they boarded the train, Neal had immediately reclined his seat and closed his eyes. Peter just sat very complacently and began drumming his fingers nonstop on the small table between them. Eventually, Neal heaved a sigh and opened his eyes.

     “You’re not going to stop until you hear every last detail, are you?”

     “Nope!” Peter replied making the “p” pop.

     Neal knew that he wasn’t getting out of this one anytime soon, so it was probably best to come clean, or at least a version of squeaky-clean.

     “Well, did I ever tell you about the time that I was in Scotland, Peter? Hypothetically, I may have been in the Highlands several years back when a production crew was scouting nearby castles to use in an epic, historical television series called ‘Outlander.’ The show’s director was also there conducting screen tests for various roles, and Gordon Rantoul was in residence to make sure that all the sets and costumes looked authentic for the 18th century era that they were depicting.

     At that particular moment, I just happened to be poking around in one of those old castles when everybody arrived, and somehow, I was shanghaied into testing for the part of Jamie Fraser, the male lead in the saga. Gordon Rantoul was especially adamant about it, and he kept urging me to agree over _lots_ of single-malt Scotch. I swear that man has a hollow leg when it comes to high-end alcohol, but, nonetheless, he was a treasure trove of bygone trivia regarding Scottish history and its legends of intrigue. End of story, Peter.”

     Peter smiled, and started drumming his fingers again. “Not so fast, Buddy. There’s more to this ‘story.’ I think that while the museum director was trying to convince you to take the role, you seized an opportunity to pump him for more detailed historical information. Did Rantoul’s tales of bygone eras perhaps point you in the direction of the lost McNally solitaire?”

     Neal looked at Peter and shrugged innocently. “His insights may have possibly narrowed my search just a tad.”

     Peter grunted and moved on, knowing that Neal wouldn’t admit anything more on that subject. However, there were other avenues to pursue.

     “Tell me about this character that you were supposed to play, Neal. I need to hear all the juicy specifics.”

     Neal slouched down in his seat self-consciously and sighed. Embarrassed or not, he eventually answered Peter’s request.

     “Well, I was supposed to play a young and stubborn member of the Fraser clan, whom trouble always seemed to find. According to the story, which is based on a series of books written by Diana Gabaldon, Jamie Fraser was a Highland rebel fighting with other Jacobite dissidents against the harsh tyranny of British rule. He was relentlessly pursued by the very evil British Captain ‘Black Jack Randall.’ Eventually, our stalwart hero was unjustly imprisoned for crimes that he didn’t commit. There’s an allegory about us somewhere in there, don’t you think, Peter?”

     When Peter just snorted, Neal picked up the narrative again.

     “On the plus side, Jamie had a keen sense of élan, a wicked sense of humor, and a very inventive knack for swearing, shedding his clothes, and making love to his soulmate. He was also a master at escaping Randall’s evil clutches, until one day he couldn’t, and the results were rather dire, to put it mildly.”

     “So,” Peter continued the discussion when Neal went silent, “they wanted you to play this young, dashing, romantic, hero-type character? I’m trying to picture you on a horse in a plaid kilt with a broadsword in your hand.”

     “Yep!” Neal confirmed. “The deal breaker was that they wanted to make my hair coloring a dark reddish-brown, and that’s a definite no-no for someone of my ilk. You certainly do not want to stand out; you want to blend in, and red hair is a very memorable trait that sticks in people’s minds.

     It was almost twenty miles down the track before Peter spoke again.

     “You never cease to surprise and amaze me, Neal. I think there are depths to you that I’ll never be able to fathom—things that you will not willingly share. I’ll never know everything, will I?”

     Neal peered at Peter and grinned mischievously.

     “There are lots of things that I am willing to share, Peter—tidbits of information that I’m sure you may be wondering and are dying to know, like what I wore or _didn’t_ wear under my tartan kilt,” Neal proclaimed with a comical waggle of his eyebrows.

     Peter grimaced. “Please spare me that detail, Lord Jamie, Laird of whatever. I think that I can survive without knowing the nitty-gritty of your undercarriage!”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this little story concludes the “Did I Ever Tell You?” series. I hope that you may have found one or two that you particularly liked. I have a couple of other non-related White Collar fictions still on my computer that I’ll start posting next month.
> 
> And thanks again to Treon for all the screen caps in this series.


End file.
